


L'appel du Vide

by vulturedust



Category: Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, I feel like I'm gonna mess with peoples emotions, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Morpho is dead but still important, No one is having a good time, Occasional angst here and there, Rebellion, Time Travel, oh yeah some happiness comes from meta and galacta forgot about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulturedust/pseuds/vulturedust
Summary: He was sealed away for a crime "he" didn't commit. He wakes up in a new era, decades later, and desires to start his mess of a life over. But he can't catch a break when they come back and want him back.He was broken and tormented, using the last of his courage to lead those who have suffered away. He creates something bigger, but can't help nearly crumbling under the pressure and weight of this newfound "fame".He was special. He had everything going for him, until they found him dead and cold in a river of blood.





	1. Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> Wowwie would ya look at this? I've been writing this for a while (twice, this is the better, modified version) and I'm proud of it. I hope other people like it.

  
He was completely numb. The blackness engulfed him as he laid in the nothingness. He strained to move. Nothing happened. Once again, he moved. This time he was somewhat successful, eyes cracking open to slits. They fluttered open a bit more, and all he could see was the sky above. The sky was dark and cloudy. It smelled like metal and rain. He was very confused. Where was he?  
  
Little by little, the feeling came back to his hands. He brought them to his face, feeling his soft but tattered gloves touch his dirty skin. In the rips of the stained fabric was his exposed palm, cut and bloodied. He moved each and everyone of his fingers. The pain from the cuts was bearable, until he moved his fingers. The movement pulled the skin on his hands, causing the cuts to burn.  
  
Sighing, he placed his hands in the muddy earth and heaved. He staggered to his feet. He was plagued with exhaustion. Disorientated, he glanced down at his feet, which blurred into the ground. He still wore his silvery-white armor he was almost always clad in. But the metal was splattered in blood and dirt. The dirt was somewhat washed off by the rain that was falling steadily. He scowled at his appearance. This armor had to be hidden. Glancing around, he caught sight of a line of dead and thick brush. That would have to do, as it was the only sort of fauna in the area.  
  
Without hesitation, he lunged forward and prepared to rip the brush out. Instant regret. He pulled his hand back, yelping in pain. He bit his tongue quickly to stop the noise from escaping his mouth. Large thorns were now lodged in his fingers and droplets of fresh blood started to seep through the glove. He growled to himself in frustration. Teeth gritted, he reached again, ignoring the sharp pain and ripped the thorn bush from its roots. Tossing the bush aside, he gazed back down at his hands. Even more thorns had been driven into his palms. His gloves where even more shredded than before. Wincing, he pulled some thorns out, until his fingers were free of the tiny daggers.  
  
He reached behind himself and started to unclip and remove his armor, careful to avoid using his palms for anything. One by one, he laid each individual piece of armor under the bush. Without being armored, he allowed his mangled wings to unfurl. As he did so, the white downy feathers fell off, leaving bald spots. But not a single feather was stained.  
  
Kicking the armor deeper into the brush, he noticed he was missing some things. He pat down his sides, eyes wide. His lance, shield and mask were nowhere to be found. His eyes darted around the clearing; they couldn’t have gone far. He hurried back to where he had been before and sighed with relief. The shield and lance where lying side-by-side in the mud.  
  
His mask was lying next to them, and he gasped a bit at the sight of a large dent in the top of it. He knelt down and examined the mask. The mask had a cross-shaped visor and two openings in the top for his horns. The dent was centered right in between the slits. He glanced away from the mask, seeing something glimmering in the mud. Picking up the object, he rubbed the mud off and his eyes widened. In his palm was a stopwatch; the glass was cracked down the middle of the clock. Around the edges of the clock was a plastic encasing, its color darker than night. Speckled across the deep black plastic was flecks of orange. The watch itself was a necklace, made to be worn around the neck. He was confused. Maybe this watch had been here before he had woken up?  
  
Then it hit him. He looked it over a second time. The memories came flooding back. He remembered the vigorous thrashing, the heaving rain, the falling ash. The sounds of battle had been drowned out by the sounds of someone screaming, his head being held underwater. The river had filled with blood.  
  
He also remembered the feeling of the ice cold crystal when it was first pressed against his skin.  
  
He was out of that prison. He was free. Even though he had been sealed away unconscious, it still had to have been a while since they wished him put away.  
  
But who unsealed him? The thought raced through his mind as he whirled around, scanning for any sign of life. His hair on his neck stood up straight. Something was wrong. Nothing was found around him; the only trace of life being his own footprints his boots had left. His eyes grew large as he reached for his lance and shield, clipping the watch around his neck. On edge, he slumped back towards the brush.  
  
_Crack!_  
  
He snapped his head back at the sound of someone stepping on branches. He could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer. Panic surged through his body as he glared over to where he had left his mask half-buried in the mud. A light sudden shone his way. Lunging into the thorn bush, he hissed quietly at the pain. He was certain he could feel blood trickling down his face as he watched two men walk into view. They carried a flashlight and spoke with slurred words. They wore run-down rags for clothes and they laughed so loudly it made his ears ring. Their knees were uneasy as they cast the flashlight around the clearing.  
  
“Your hat has got to be around here somewhere!” One of the men snorted loudly. He watched them stagger around the clearing, light dancing around the edges of the brush. He sank deeper into the thorns, but sighed in relief as the man with the flashlight turned away. The relief, however, turned to anxiety as he saw them near his mask. Hopefully these men were foolish enough to miss the mask completely.

“Hey, there's something lying in the mud here!” The man yelled towards the other man. He put his head in his hands and let out a low growl. Flicking his eyes up, he watched as one of the men reached down and started to rub the mud off of the mask. When he saw the silvery metal, the man’s eyes lit up.

“Look at this!” The man with the flashlight dropped it to the ground and hurried over to the mask. When he saw the mask, the man seemed to squeal at such a tone that made his ears ring from the bush. The man ripped the mask from the other’s hands and gazed down at it, completely mesmerized.

“Do you know what this is, dude?” The man yelled, excited over the find. He watched the two men gaze down at the mask again. One of them slapped it for some reason. The other snatched it away but nearly tossed it to the ground. His wings twitched with fury; they where _manhandling_ his mask.

“This mask looked like it belonged to that legendary dude you thought was real when you were little.” One man laughed, picking up the flashlight once again. He playfully elbowed the other man, who still seemed fixated on the mask. When his companion didn’t respond, the man rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know man. This thing looks authentic and wo-”

“We are not five. You must be stupid; Galacta wasn’t a real person. He was just a character in a legend that was passed down from our ancestors. Legends aren’t real ya know. That’s why they’re called legends.” And the man kept droning on and on and on.

He lifted his head higher at that remark. His name had been said. Galacta. And apparently these men thought he never existed. He, Galacta, watched the men with a puzzled expression. They’re words now fell of deaf ears. Suddenly, Galacta remembered the man’s words. Ancestors. It had been ages since he had been sealed away. Why was he of use now? Galacta sat motionless, thinking deeply until he heard the sound of his mask falling into the dirt.

“It's probably just a replica. Besides, when did the legends ever say Galacta had set foot on Mekkai? The legend came from Halcandra, which, may I remind you, is in another dimension.” The skeptical man retorted. Galacta listened intently, starting to piece together all of the information. He was on a foreign planet in another dimension called Mekkai; he woke up lying in the mud, _unsealed_ and ages had passed. Galacta scowled; he still didn’t know who had wished for him unsealed. He shook his head and exhaled to relax. _Alright,_ he thought to himself, _I can work with this._

“I’ll take it to the museum at the base. They’ll check for its authenticity. And if this thing is real,” The man puffed out his chest, “I’ll be drowning in cash!”

“ _We’ll_ be rich,” quipped the other man, “We found it together.”

“...Whatever.”

Galacta watched the men stumbled out of the clearing, his mask in their hands. Slowly, he crawled out from the brush. Galacta gazed back down at his armor, lance and shield lying underneath the thorns. He had to leave them; if anyone was to see him with anything like that he would be in trouble. Breathing out slowly, Galacta turned and started towards the men had been heading.

Galacta stalked the men from behind, silent and slow. The anxiety about being unarmed and unarmored had been replaced by determination and anger. He was going to get that mask back. He walked past buildings. The air smelled like metal and rain. The men continued further and further down the streets, until they stopped at a large building. Galacta stopped dead in his tracks.

This building wasn’t just a single building; it was apart of a complex. One large skyscraper like building stood tall above the rest, walls shiny and covered in metal. But what bothered Galacta was the sign that stood in front of the building in front of him. The letters in red and bold font seemed to laugh at him. They taunted him as his skin crawled. The sign read,

**INTERGALACTIC AGENCY: DEFENSE HEADQUARTERS**


	2. Breaking and Entering

Galacta looked at the dome-entrance in disgust. He had once been apart of the Intergalactic Defense team for the agency. A long, long time ago. And what they had done… He shivered inwardly, reminded of the day they ordered him sealed away in that crystal prison. But they were at fault.  
  
It was all their fault. And after everything that had been done to Galacta, they would not have his mask. Even if he was dead and rotting.   
  
The men he stalked veered away from the dome building suddenly, grabbing Galacta’s full attention again. He was following them closely, so he halted and waiting for them to drift further ahead. Once they were a decent distance away, Galacta continued to slink forward at a slow and quiet pace. The men walked alongside the base, in clear view of anyone who resided in the buildings. Galacta had no choice but to cross the street, putting more distance between himself and the two who held his mask. Dashing through the traffic, Galacta whirled around to look for the men. He had lost sight of them.  
  
In an instant, Galacta unfurled his wings and shot into the air as fast as he could. He continued straight up to avoid being seen. For a split second, high above the buildings, Galacta felt on top of the world again. It was like back then. Before they ruined everything. Scowling, he returned to scanning for the men. He smirked when he caught sight of the familiar glint of silver his mask gave off, deep in an alleyway.  
  
Swooping down and landing out of sight on a rooftop, he saw the men stroll into a large building. They opened the heavy metal doors and disappeared into the darkness. After the doors shut tightly, Galacta glided down and gazed at the building. Compared to the average but modern structure of the rest of the base, this building looked fancy and old-fashioned. It had marble pillars and shimmering, stained-glass windows. In front, a large sign read “MUSEUM” in bold lettering.   
  
He went to the front doors and pressed on them. A loud noise caught him off guard. Galacta pulled his hands back, getting a whiff of dusty, stale air that leaked through the slit in the door. Galacta remembered that he couldn’t risk it. He had to find another way in. Walking around the building, he tripped and stumbled into a shadowy alleyway. It was lined with trash and boxes. No more fancy pillars lined the museums. The tall windows were now plain. Galacta perked up when he heard the familiar slurred voices of the two men inside the building. It came from a window that was cracked open; just enough for Galacta to reach inside and break the screen. _It's been ages and people still are idiots_ , Galacta thought, smirking a bit. He perched up on the box that sat under the open window, listening intently to the two men discuss his mask.   
  
“So, is it authentic?”   
  
“Um, we unfortunately aren’t the experts on artifacts brought in here, gentlemen. Definitely not educated on The Ancients and their people. However, we can hold on to this for tonight and have our experts run tests tomorrow morning.” Galacta tensed. They were going to give his mask to other people. They were going to touch it. He leapt down off of the box, sitting down in the shadows and planning everything out in his head. He could slip in through the front door and somehow get around guards and cameras. Or he could try and rip open the screen to the window and squeeze inside, risking getting stuck.  
  
Risking. He would get caught walking right in through the door. If Galacta slipped in through the window he could get stuck. Galacta made up his mind and turned back to the window. Climbing up the box, he managed to work his hand through the window. He reached up and unlocked the window and slowly pushed it up. The window must have been new as it had moved silently. Galacta peered inside the building, scanning for any sign of life. No one was there; those guards must have left. Swinging his leg into the window, Galacta managed to softly land on the shiny floor of the museum. The echo of his boots clanging flowed across the museum.   
  
The museum was large and open, with open exhibits lining the walls. Galacta moved forward with caution; surely there would be alarms that he could trigger easily. However, the more steps he took, the longer the eerie silence around him lasted.  
  
 _Odd…_ Galacta thought as he neared an exhibit. A taxidermy animal stood, its teeth bared and glossy with preservative. It was a large dog-like creature, with a pointed snout and upright ears pinned against its head. It had plastic pale brownish-amber eyes that stood out against the dark grey patches around its eyes. The plaque beneath it read _Gray Wolf : Canis Lupus_. Galacta remembered learning about wolves a long,  _long_ time ago; talented hunters they had been. He gazed at its fur, and felt the sudden urge to see how it felt. Maybe like horse hair considering it had been there for a while. But he snapped his hand back; alarms were still something to worry about.  
  
Turning away from the exhibits, Galacta spotted an empty desk standing alone in the center of the room. The welcome desk. Paperwork was scattered across the keyboard of an old laptop that sat in the middle of the desk. Luckily, his gloves still covered his finger tips. Galacta flipped through the papers, but most of them were bills for the electricity and science stuff he wasn’t going to waste his time on. He wanted a map of the museum. Scowling, Galacta put the papers down messily; no luck with a map. Turning around, Galacta looked around for a map; maybe a poster. Starting down a hallway, Galacta realized that the museum wasn’t a small, open building. Walking down a few stairs, the hallway turned into a dark labyrinth beneath ground level. He picked a hallway and started into the damp darkness.   
  
After what felt like a decade of wandering aimlessly, Galacta noticed a door at the end of the hallway that read “Scientists Only”. Maybe his mask was in there. Reaching forward, he jiggled the doorknob. They hadn’t looked the door. Slowly, Galacta turned the knob and the door creaked open, its hinges squeaking. Once the door was open completely, Galacta smiled as he saw his mask sitting alone on a desk. One step in and…  
  
_BEEP!_   
  
“Great!” Galacta spat aloud as the alarm’s long, high-pitched beep pierced his ears. He had to be quick; this was the IGA-run museum and they would move quickly. He dashed in and grabbed the mask, sprinting out of the room and slamming the heavy door behind him. The hallway had gone pitch black; the dim lights that barely lit exhibits had gone out. Growling with frustration, Galacta slowed down and felt around him. The walls were close, but slowly started to move farther away. An exhibit was starting; some of them had been carved out of the walls in a round shape. Galacta stumbled forward into the exhibit. He felt some sort of a fence against his feathery wings. His eyes adjusted to the darkness a bit and he could make out a large black shadow of what could be a box. He heard the faint sound of wailing sirens above him.  
  
 _Hide!_  
  
Pulling himself into the exhibit, Galacta was careful not to knock over anything around him. He bumped against something and it fell with a bang, making Galacta wince. Cursing under his breath, the man managed to squeeze his wings between the box-like object and the wall. His breathing picked up when he heard people yelling somewhere in the tunnels.  
  
Silence. The dreaded beep had stopped and the eeriness of the hallways crept all around him. Those voices that once yelled had now been hushed to faint whispers, distant footsteps taking their place. They were searching. Galacta didn’t move, remaining pinned. He couldn’t risk it to be more comfortable. The best thing to do is hope that they wouldn’t find him and he could walk out the next morning.  
  


* * *

  
“IGA forces are on the move, and are heading to their museum. Clara Randolf is among them. She still reads as infected by our triggers near the museum.” A woman yelled from a large control desk, lit up with buttons and small screens. She swiveled around to see an older man perched over her, dressed in metal armor that shone even in the dim light. His hard eyes glared at the screens. One wrote the transcription of the call to the IGA headquarters, while another was a hidden camera capturing the scene at the museum. A woman stood in front of the museum, wearing an IGA defense uniform with dark, unnatural patches covering her arms. He frowned.  
  
“An advanced case and they still send her out. Their care has diminished for public safety. She poses a huge risk for anyone there.” He mumbled. Footsteps closed in from behind as another man started towards the screen.He gazed at the sick woman and shook his head in dismay.  
  
“She’ll be lucky if she lives another two weeks.” He grumbled, as the older man looked at the younger newcomer.  
  
“You’re our expert on Dark Matter. What do we do?”  
  
“Interfere. Stop them from entering public grounds. And help them figure out who broke in.”  
  


* * *

Galacta felt like he had been clinging to the box for hours. Sweat beaded at his hairline as he sat in the dusty silence. His nose itched. He felt his wings brush against cobwebs and shivered inwardly. Sometimes he heard distant voices, but that rarely happened.

He held his breath as he heard the sound of tapping. It seemed to be coming from the research room. Sinking back into the shadows, Galacta heard a new voice say something, although it was muffled by a wall or door. They must have been in the room he had been in. The heavy door opened and Galacta froze. Suddenly, this newcomer started running. They stirred up more dust as they whizzed by Galacta. They seemed armored based on the muted clanging they made as they moved. When the running footsteps vanished deep into the maze of darkness, Galacta peered over the box, facing the research room.

The door was wide open and there was no signs of people inside. Casting nervous glances around, his skin prickled as he got up and lunged into the room. There had been a small window on the side of the room. It was closed, but Galacta could still hear the blaring sirens outside. He scowled and unlocked the window, opening it all the way. It was too small for a human to crawl through, but it was big enough to slip a mask out of.

Pushing the mask out the window, Galacta managed to get it buried beneath a few trash bags that sat next to the museum. While it felt odd to throw it away, it was a better option than letting the IGA have it. Sighing in relief, Galacta closed the window once again. While locking it, a thought started to cross his mind. Pausing, he looked down at the window again. It had been too small for a child to fit through.

 _How did that person get inside?_   Galacta wondered, focusing on the window. He didn't see the shadow of a humanoid figure appear behind him at the doorway.  
  
“Don’t. Move.”   
  
A feminine voice barked from right behind Galacta. His chest tightened; he could hear more voices coming their way in the maze of tunnels. Turning his head slowly, he got a glimpse at who stood behind him This person was almost his height, with green, polish armor. The shoulder pads had an odd pattern or emblem on the sides, and a deep red ponytail seemed to poke out from behind their helmet. They carried a sharp sword that was pointed at Galacta at an angle that showed scratches and stains that showed this person had fought before.

“You aren’t from IGA, are you?” They snapped once more, stepping closer. Galacta flinched as the sword got closer to his abdomen. He was unarmed. His best chance was to run.

“No, I am not a rat like them.” Galacta spat, voice toxic as he arched his back. His wings unfurled and he sprung forward, passed the person who blocked his way. He winced as he felt something sharp bury into his leg. They sliced him. Shaking his head, Galacta continued to fly down the hallway. Peering around frantically, he realized he couldn’t find his original hiding spot.

He froze in place, anxiety clouding his gaze as he around at the exhibits. All of them had been open spaces with nothing big enough to hide behind. Nothing could conceal his wings. Galacta had been so wrapped up in panic, he failed to notice the quiet and sly footsteps coming up from behind him.

It all happened so fast. Galacta was snapped out of his panicked state as he felt something brush against his wings. He went to turn around when a hand clamped down on his forearm, yanking him forward. His balance was off as they yanked his hand again, pulling him up and twisting his wrist. Another hand grabbed his available arm and forced it behind him. Growling in anger, Galacta went to pull his hands back but this person wouldn’t budge; they were strong and still, never moving despite the quick motions Galacta made.

The sound of something clicking from their side only made Galacta squirm more. He couldn’t move. His efforts were useless, and he could feel eyes burning into the back of his head. Suddenly, a sharp needle was plunged into the side of his neck before it was quickly removed. The person released their harsh grib and allowed Galacta to stumble forward. He whirled around, but his balance was off. He knew it had been a tranquilizer. Falling to his knees, he gazed up, expecting to see the person with green armor. However, who stood before him was a different person.

They were on the shorter side, their head maybe coming up to Galacta’s shoulder. They wore shining obsidian-black armor was dark blue-grey shoulder plates. The armor was lined with gold and red markings. A long crimson crap rested on their back, starting from their shoulders and flowing down to their ankles. They didn’t wear a helmet like the other one he had seen; their face was half covered by a long black cloth, their eyes and nose visible even in the dull, strange light.

Despite his blurring vision, Galacta could clearing see their eyes. They shone a vivid amber-yellow in the darkness, with odd hints of grey flecked in. They seemed to have a ghostly glow to them that made Galacta want to sprint away out of fear. This person knelt down beside Galacta, who was now paralyzed on the ground. Galacta wanted to flee, but moving anything was impossible now. He tried to raise his hand, but he didn't even feel a twitch in his fingers

“My apologies, sir, but you’re safe now. They would destroy you if they caught you.” They spoke quietly, voice getting fuzzy in Galacta’s ears. Their eyes flashed again, as they stood once again. Galacta’s eyes fought to stay open; his eyes felt heavy and dry. They failed and shut loosely, as if he was falling asleep. His mind went dark as his body went lax on the dusty ground, with the newcomer standing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on updating this earlier but I broke my ankle about 2 weeks ago and everything got pushed back :) But hey I'm better now and still writing so this won't go away


End file.
